It's a 10hr drive from Elvis land to Milwaukee. Riding down there awake with the driver we pass by an all year round Christmas store off the highway. A 20ft red and white Santa stands waving by the exit. Two exits further down and there's a sign for a rest area:'BONG REST AREA - NEXT EXIT 235'.
The next sign reads: "MARS CHEESE CASTLE - EXIT 236".
The road to Milwaukee is paved with insanity. It's Christmas all year round, a castle made of cheese has landed from Mars, and they have separate, government supplied rest stops, for pot heads. This is going to be a fun gig.
The Milwaukee Summerfest is accordingly insane. It's like Glastonbury or one of those drug induced UK festivals, but without the mud and promoted by Walt Disney instead of Michael Eabers. For a start there is no mud. Which is nice. There are also very few freaks like us. This place is a theme park full of normal people, interspersed with weird festival acts. There's a car completely covered in 'repent or ye shall die' slogans. Someone in Milwaukee has stolen Jesus' car. Is nothing sacred? There's a fat man astride a motorcycle on a tight rope that stretches across a river. Below the motorcycle dangles a cheerleader on a trapeze. The fat man hits the throttle and he and the cheerleader zoom along the tightrope 20ft above the river while she does gymnastic tricks.
The crowd "Oooohs" and "Aaaahs".
"He's amazing!"
"The Amazing Trevoulo!" He looks stupid.
The bike sounds like a 50cc scooter and the Amazing Trevoulo looks like Evil Kenevil trying to impersonate Elvis during the Vegas years. Next act in line are a trio of walking black dots. That's the only way I can describe them. Big black dots with massive hands, walking. Like a little surreally is needed here? Have you walked around? Then I get to the fanny packs. I don't know what a 'fanny pack' is, but they have genuine leather ones. In the UK 'fanny' is a slang word for vagina, so I'll leave it to your imagination as to what a 'fanny pack is'. Do they come in multi-packs? Last but not least is the 'Gator on a stick' stall. They sell Alligator sausages . . . on a stick. One of the oldest species on Earth? Let's kill 'em all and stick 'em on a stick to eat. I'm so proud to be a member of the civilised West.
Johnny gets pulled over by two undercover cops. He's not even driving. He's walking along with a beer in a plastic cup. The cops don't believe he's over 21. They want to see his ID. Johnny will be 30 this year. He shows them the ID.
"Damn boy, you're the youngest looking 29 year old I've ever seen! You'll still be looking good when I'm in my grave."
"Thanks."
The gig is amazing. There are 2500 people in front of us as we take to the stage. We play our best and they dig it. We decide to throw 'Disposable' into the set and it goes down really well (which is surprising as it's one of the weirder tunes on the LP). After a few tunes the gifts start flying in. People throw money, popcorn, cigarettes, joints, lighters. You name it, they throw it. It happens a lot. I usually ask them to throw pre-rolled joints, so I don't have to do any work. Tonight I ask them if they can throw any loose women onto the stage. A hailstorm of harlots not forthcoming. After the show there are a few genuine Pitchshifter enthusiasts back stage, and we talk and shake hands and sign stuff. Very nice people. Unfortunately there's also a myriad of weakening bullshitters back there and I run off and hide in the bus as soon as I can get away. On the bus there are two young Christian girls. They really liked the show but they were offended by the 'blatantly anti-Christian sentiment' of my parole. I cuddle them, I take their photo, I make them smoke, I make them drink.
After an hour or so they are mashed. I've spent the whole time ranting on about the glorious triumphs of the Dark Lord and other dumb Satanist bullshit. As they rise to leave I make the sign of the devil instead of shaking hands. The younger of the two makes the sign back at me, and then looks at her hand in horror, suddenly realising what she's doing. Thank you Ladies and Gentlemen. I have altered the course of history.
Come Sunday morning those two girls won't be sitting there in church with all the other stiff white neck Republican asses, heads down, begging for forgiveness. They'll be flicking through the pages of spin magazine to see when the next punk rock gig is.
"I'm gonna get us some killer skunk weed and steal a crate of communion wine for the next gig."
"Yeah! and I'm gonna get a pentagram with the words 'Pitchshifter or death' around it tattooed on my titty. YEEEEHAAAAAWWW!"
God bless America.
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